The characters of this trip need a little introduction.
Vihang – Chief Organizer and chief snorer.
Shilpa – Chief Medic and aspiring Tollywood heroine
Kushal – Chief Cameraman, expert in slow exposure photography in pitch darkness
Smitha – Moo-di-doodle-doo and Ms.I love wine … hic (Please don’t kill me)
Murali – Chief Level head, very good at putting people to sleep, literally
Tanvi – Chief Tormentor, majoring in Glutton/pig science aka Kushal’s sister
Abhishek – Embezzler, your not so humble narrator and iPod thief.
Act 1, Scene 1 – Due to lack of clarity in the narrator’s mind this is an assorted bit comprising essentially of details pertaining to the pre-trek shopping and our journey from Bangalore to Delhi.
The whole deal began with shopping; about getting your winter gear right and this, in the bang middle of another regular Bangalore summer. We are talking of the whole nine yards - Jackets, sweaters, gloves, footwear, etc. The sight of someone walking in front of the mirror with a monkey cap, jacket and gloves while you’re sweating in a cotton T can be mind numbing. It could make you wonder if your sweat glands are hyperactive or are you just plain lucky to see an alien in your midst. My apologies to all those hapless shoppers who were subjected to the unsightly experience of watching me walk around in abnormally warm clothes. Secondly, although easier, never visit the same stores to shop at that your fellow travelers have been to. I say this as, how ever low the odds of you picking up the same sweater or any other garment, there is just no escaping it. The visible consequence being that my school pal Kushal and I landed up looking like long lost brothers for the whole trek. The unique identifier, that our fictional Hindi movie mommy gave us - A red jacket. The way these things go I guess. At least they were good jackets. What say … brother Kushal?
Plates, cups, hunter shoes and good luck charms later our gear was in place or so we hoped. The doubts had come fast and furious and would linger on till the eve of the actual trek.
The travel plans were simpler though. Wind up another working friday a little early to catch the flight to Delhi at 17:10. Although the flight turned out to be half an hour late we figured things still looked good to make the Delhi-Kalka train scheduled to leave at 22:15. The flight takes off with 5 lost souls excited at the possibility of getting lost in the mountains. May be losing oneself in the throes of hardship where every pause is punctuated with picturesque valleys, sinuating roads (if any) and towering snow-clad mountains was the all important first step to regaining a little clarity on what is truly important and what isn’t, in this funny thing called life. And perspective, as my old man would have put it, is everything. This is what I hoped this trek would do for me. Coming back to this flight we were on. Well, Mr. Lennon is right when he says that life is what happens to you while you’re busy planning it. Come the estimated time of arrival the flight does land and we are told by a clearly amateur pilot that we are in Jaipur. Apparently he didn’t like the idea of the flight being welcomed into Delhi with hailstones. What’s wrong with a little ice? Party pooper or ‘smart chappie’ as Wodehouse sarcasm would have put it. This delay certainly didn’t help our cause and we were scrambling for options to catch the Kalka express on time. But there were too many loose ends for us to narrow down on any one option. So we did the next best thing … crossed our fingers and prayed real hard. A gesture, that I mentally did the rounds with on many more occasions through the trip. An agnostic outlook is a fair weather ally. Damn. We finally reached Delhi by 12am!!! Our scheduled time of arrival had been 8pm. Kushal got us a cab to old Delhi station and we got there by 1 am. Although hoping for the train to be there was fool hardy we knew the inter-state bus terminal near by would still provide for ways to get to Kalka or Shimla. As a cursory gesture we decided to enquire about the train’s departure time. We were surprised to hear that the train was still due to leave and as of now was sitting pretty on platform 4. It had to be waiting for us. There is no other valid reason. That and the quintessential Indian bureaucrat’s quip – ‘It happens only in India saar’. But our race to the platform in question wasn’t short of being a circus event. Shilps and I managed to enquire, and then find our way to the platform. The rest of the gang though already knew the platform number and being more hopeful, straight away headed for the platform. En route Tanvi stumbled under the weight of her backpack and fell, wondering all along why the same bag seemed heavier now. They did get to the train and the bogey in question only with Kushal realizing then that in his efforts to help Tanvi (Thumbelina henceforth) he had probably dropped the tickets. So here we were all of us in one place wondering on how much we did have to pay the TC off to let us travel sans tickets. But fortunately for the capital there still are a few good Samaritans around. One such do gooder happened to find our tickets lying around. He handed it to one of the station officers who came looking for us in our train. The return of the ticket was peppered with typical Delhite swagger and rudeness. But like an ancient uncle of mine would have put it – All’s well that ends well. Oh, by the way, Thumbelina was carrying my bag while I was carrying hers; our bags looked similar from the outside.
The Kalka express took us to Kalka. Now that was hard to figure. We caught the connecting toy train to Shimla. About the toy train, well, it is painfully slow or should I say pleasantly slow? It takes 6 hours to make a journey that would have otherwise taken 2 hours. But therein lies its charm. The pristine beauty of the hills could not be more evident if not for the toy train. For those of you who couldn’t care a damn about the beauty of the hills, well you could try getting off the train and getting on while it is ‘running’.
We reached Shimla where we met Smitha and Murali. A sweet couple like them needed a little time with each other before they handled company like ours. We completely forgive them on that account. But they did save us a lot of trouble by finding us accommodation in Shimla. Most places that provide acco have amazing one liners to help them sell. Most in Shimla stuck to the well established liner – ‘24 hrs hot water supply’. The significance of which completely missed us then. While on the topic of marketing one liners I simply can’t miss one from a hotel in Kasol – ‘Overseas the river, place of Peace and Shanti’. This sign made me wonder if Shanti was a member of the visiting faculty from the nearby brothel. Place of Peace and Shanti. Sure.
A bench in Shimla just outside of Gorton Castle
We had a day to spend in Shimla so we went around seeing whatever remained of our colonial past coz let’s face it, mainly what popular travel itineraries have for hill stations is churches, castles and ancient Brit houses (converted to museums or institutes for studies). No denying the splendor and architectural brilliance on view. Throw in a touch of history and it adds that much more to it. And for a convent educated DBCD (Desi born confused desi) it is a thing of joy. Truly is. But my grouse is against the sheer dominance of these colonial remnants on the ‘to see’ list at most hill stations in India. So we saw the Gorton castle, the Institute of advanced studies or Ellerslie building, Christ church and Jhaku temple. Walking around in the hilly terrain of this summer retreat made us realize what this trek was going to be – a ball breaking exercise.
The next day we hired our next cab. This time we were off to Kasol our base camp. Driving through the hills is a jaw dropping, stomach churning, pant wetting experience and our driver Ashu, was a damned good driver. We also encountered through his stereo what I would easily nominate as the theme song for our trip. The ‘Murgi’ song (Buddha bar remixes I’m told). A funky dance number that had us laughing away. The lyrics to this song didn’t go beyond a rooster’s mating call. We aren’t short of creativity in our country. After a few more weird songs and a couple of rounds of motion sickness induced pukes, we were at base camp.
Stuck in a traffic jam on our way to Kasol
We were taken aback by the location of the base camp. The road where we had come to stop was a ridge which overlooked the base camp. And to the left, below and behind the camp was the Parvati River. Across the river were hills, high and mighty. And this was just the base camp.
Arrival at the base camp: (L-R) Tanni, Kushal, Murali, Smitha, Vihang, Shilpa and yours truly - Snap by Ashu our driverThe first night at the base camp was a lesson in camaraderie revisited. It bought back memories of school. Eating together, eating with strangers. The post dinner get together where some sang, some danced, some recited a poem they had penned, some others retold popular anecdotes hoping people would laugh. Some people actually laughed while most others just clapped. The attempts, the cheers, the jeers, and, if this wasn’t enough the larks and laughs just before our tired bodies gave way to sleep. This seemed to negate the fact that most here were strangers. Strangers even to the sub-group they were a part of, in some cases.
Day 1: Kasol Base Camp – 6500 ft
Your morning at the base camp had to begin at 6 am. A jog and a few exercises later you were ready for breakfast. Post breakfast we were expected to cheer the batch leaving to hit the trek trail. Again a gesture I would not forget. This was followed by an acclimatization climb on a 500 metre high hillock. We were expected to carry heavy rucksacks to simulate the load we would be carrying during the trek. An endeavor that was eye-opening for some.
The view from behind the base camp Day 2: Kasol Base Camp
The regimen at the base camp was well established and so we had tea at 6 am again. Again a jog, a few exercises, breakfast and the cheering bit for the batch leaving today accomplished - we set off to get some rappelling and rock climbing done. Tried my hand at both and managed to survive. Comforting recollection now but the rock climbing gig had me shitting in my pants. Why did I venture into it especially knowing that I had the choice to back out? Well, you had a few members of the fairer sex giving it a shot and the male ego is well chronicled I think. There was this pint sized girl whose only character flaw was that she would pick fights with me all the time. She managed to climb the rock face with gusto worth all the respect I can afford. Kudos Thumbelina …
Thumbelina at workTravelling to this town and back was memorable. Getting there we hitched a ride with an Innova, courtesy Shilps and while getting back we again hitched a ride … with a truck. Superb!!!
The view from within the truckCome snooze time, more kicking, more snoring.
Act 1, Scenic too
Day 3: Kasol to Gunna Paani – 8000 ft
The trek finally kicked off today. The rain gods decided to give us company. Standing in the rain with our ponchos on, we waited for the local bus to ferry us to the point from where our trek would begin. We sang popular bollywood numbers to ensure that the incessant drizzle wouldn’t dampen our spirits. But there was no stopping our minds from whispering silent prayers. We had no idea what lay ahead of us.
Uncertainty has a charm that sticklers for planning know nothing of. Yes, this was an organized trek but we were far removed from the worlds we knew and on the verge of embarking on something that we had figured, is what life should be about. What it would demand was for us to find out. Our preceding batches had made it sound difficult and we couldn’t help but be apprehensive. But jumping into things singing ’I will survive’ has been a well established tendency of mine. An approach deemed as fool hardy by many reasonable blokes I have come to know, but I’ll have it no other way. Luckily I have never been short of like minded company and here I was again. Yep, anarchy rules.
Oh, I was talking about the trek. I almost forgot. The local bus did come along and as agreed upon by us we decided to find places for ourselves on the roof. Madness some would say. But fellow lunatics had told us that the roof was the place to be. The things that we had forgotten to consider before venturing onto the roof - narrow, serpentine roads that served as two ways, the inclement weather, and a raging river below alongside. Also, throw in overheard wires, boughs and jutting rocks all of which seemed to want to attach themselves to our faces. If we had known that sitting on the roof would imply dealing with all of this none of us would have bothered to get onto the roof. But I’m glad we did, insanity is a worthwhile pastime. A lot of ducking, crossing and uncrossing of fingers later, we did get to the place where the trail would begin in good spirits. Uncle Shakespeare’s maxim on things being hunky dory would seem relevant here.
The roof top ride on a local bus
We set off on the trail and an hour and half later we were at Shila village. We decided to rest a while and the rain gods taking a cue from us decided to bless us again. The joy of watching the rain with a cup of tea in hand is understated, if stated at all. Especially in a setting that involved mist clad mountains and a make shift kitchen, with a fire we stoked to keep us warm. Life isn’t in those rat holes we call cubicles. Life is else where. May be, here?
Noodles and chai for us ... ?After noodles, more chai and a few more hindi songs we were back on the trail. We reached Gunna Paani by 3 pm, our station for the night. About Gunna Paani, it was a beautiful camp. Little did we know on seeing this first camp that rating all camps for its beauty would be like rating beautiful topless women - Does it matter? They are all topless and beautiful.
I’m sorry if I have ruined it for the lady readers. You guys will know what I’m talking about though. Yep, brother I know, but you got to stop the mental images of topless women in your head now.
Seriously, this camp was stunning. Snow clad mountains across the valley and cattle strewn meadows alongside.
Another windfall of the trip was the brief insight into the world of astronomy. At these altitudes the sky seems to be sprinkled with a generous helping of stars. The constellation in clear view that night was the ‘question mark’ or the big dipper in Ursa Major, as the nerds would put it. We had a telescope set up at this camp and that provided us with the opportunity to view Saturn with its rings. Sipping Milo, freezing and yet star gazing is another image I’m not going to forget in a hurry.
Saturn through a telescopeAs long as there is team work things are fine they say.
First kicking and now, we have a nasal orchestra to try and sleep with too.
Day 4: Gunna Paani to Fual Paani– 9500 ft
The days begin at pretty much the same time. After a quick dash into the bushes and having attended to the longer version of nature’s call you wound up your belongings to begin another day of trekking. Post breakfast we packed lunch for ourselves and set off for our next camp. I wasn’t feeling too good. I had a running temperature and a not so common cold to contend with. I was feeling drained and was trudging along. Naresh the camp leader helped me out by lending me an all important Electrol.
This easily was the worst day of my trek. I managed to still make it to Fual Paani in good time.
Fual Paani was the only exception as far as idyllic camp locations go. The camp was on a cleared out section of a hill, what could be best described as a Himalayan subtropical pine forest. Getting to the camp had been an encouraging sign and a good night’s sleep would probably find me in better shape. I hoped.
It was at Fual Paani that Kushal’s prowess with the camera became evident. Sun down and in pitch darkness our man was handling classes on slow exposure photography. A gesture that otherwise would have received our complete support for reasons that I cannot explicitly state. But with no electricity and hence no lighting, and the stream being the venue of Professor Kushal’s dissertation, we were worried. The stream was a fair distance away and the trail to the stream was treacherous, more so in pitch darkness.
All the talk of bears lurking around made things grimmer. But we did venture after him and we did find him and his class at the stream. The class, all in all, comprised of one member - Neha. We found the two of them, animatedly discussing slow exposure photography. Well, Uncle Shakespeare’s maxim again.
Having learnt over the last few nights the secret to Beckham’s curling free kick I decide to try my hand or should I say foot too. Sorry Vihang. There was no escaping the nasal orchestra though. But it didn’t matter. I was too tired for even the noise of canons being fired to keep me awake.
Day 5: Fual Paani to Zirmi – 11000 ft
Started the day with another dash into the woods, nature’s call can’t be ignored. The key to finding a good spot and not being found by fellow poopers is to get up early and hope the pressure lords within are awake too. The reason I say this is, the later you arise, the more the likely hood of having a discussion on the prospective hike in the fares of low cost airlines with a fellow pooper. An acceptable scenario to some, but certainly not one I did like to be a part of. Also, rising early to accomplish, what I could easily call a mission, is important if you don’t want to be surrounded by different hues of poopy around you. The idea in bringing this up is not to gross you out but to highlight the practical woes one needs to cope with to poop in peace. While dwelling on personal hygiene and its upkeep it would only be fair to mention that having a bath was a luxury we couldn’t afford. The spine chilling water ruled the very thought out. Even brushing one’s teeth was ruled out after the second camp. The plummeting temperatures had us scampering for other options. We weren’t about to ape our Neanderthal forefathers in this respect.
We arrived at two options. To brush we had what in most North Indian dialects is popularly called ‘daatun’ – pieces of Neem tree branches. Very effective in clearing plaque or so we were told. It didn’t matter though. We chewed it coz we found it pleasant to taste. As far as cleaning ourselves up was concerned the best that even the brave could manage was to dip pieces of tissue in water. Scream expletives while doing so. It probably helps beating the numbing effect the water has on your hands and then to dab that wet tissue over your dirty faces and hands. Going in anywhere else with those wet tissues was simply unthinkable. The few who tried, did manage to make us laugh with their attempts at ballet.
A new morning, a new day and a rejuvenated me, I thought and hoped. But a little into the trek and I realized I was tiring very easily. The fever had been lurking around all along and was back for good. Another Electrol was needed I figured and soldiered on. Things seemed manageable but towards the end of the trek I was nearing breaking point. The last 500 mts of the climb was the most painful and I couldn’t help but think if I would make it. The good thing about climbing alone is that it helps you have that quiet time that I personally love while climbing. The other good thing about trekking alone is that it helps you push yourself and set your own pace. But when you are under the weather a little, like I was on this stretch, it doesn’t do you any good being alone. But I survived and like the day before took comfort in the rationale that a night’s sleep will help me bounce back.
Zirmi was another scenic camp and restored my faith in the prospect of finding better camps as we moved along the trail.
The brooding monkeys - At ZirmiFual Paani wasn’t memorable for me and Zirmi’s location was like a restorative. You had lush green meadows on the left of the camp a stream to the right and ahead of us, again, snow capped peaks. The place did wonders for my spirits I guess and by nightfall I was feeling a whole lot better.
Snooze time - more football, more music.
Day 6: Zirmi to Tila Lotni – 13800 ft
The morning at Zirmi was again regimented. Every morning at every camp was an exercise in order. Tea, breakfast, the time of departure, in short everything was a scheduled affair and I was beginning to find this discipline suffocating. Agreed that we were a group of amateurs finding our way through the Himalayas and this emphasis on timelines was for our own good. But I couldn’t help wondering if it was unacceptable to spend the first half of the day tucked in bed and the latter half reading or listening to music. It was with such thoughts that I began this day.
Packed lunch and gear in place we set out again for what would turn out to be our highest and coldest camp – Tila Lotni. The trail seemed like the one we had been on so far. It had its share of steep climbs, tricky rock passes, huge pine trees lying across the trail that we did have to either get under or get over, the occasional brightly hued flower that would catch our attention, the glimpse of a perched bird in close proximity, the general freshness of the air that seemed to amaze all of us. Our senses were overwhelmed and pleasantly so. Whether we trekked alone or in groups, each one of us was aware of the beauty around us.
But I also happened to notice one more aspect to this trek. All along and on every trail so far, whether we trekked alone or in groups, we all had company, we always had flies to contend with. Yeah, large numbers of the common housefly better known to an entomologist as Musca domestica. Every time we took a breather, they would be all over us. I mean here I was leading the trail in the middle of a pine forest in the Himalayas, a snake, the oft talked about bear was more then welcome to give me company for a brief while. Hell, such an encounter, if I do happen to survive it, is fodder for posterity. My grand children would know their Grand Papa as the guy who escaped being mauled by a bear or the ancestor who met a king Cobra face to face, and the cobra being way smarter then most other reptiles chose to live another day. Corbett for heaven’s sake had Cobras dropping in to say hi when he was giving himself a much needed bath. On another occasion, Corbett is day dreaming on a train going to Nainital or Kumaon or somewhere thereabouts and he finds a man-eating tiger on the tracks outside a tunnel purring and saying ‘Eh, Mr.Corbett kill me … be a hero’. And what do I get – Flies.
C’est la vie.
Anyways, we hit snow today. At a tricky crossing first and then after another climb of about 100 ft we were surrounded by it. Now comic books help you conceive some wonderful preconceived notions on what to do in certain scenarios and therein lies the reason they should be mandatory reads for children and adults. The first thing that came to mind was to check the aerodynamics of lumps of snow and their disintegration on meeting moving objects. The moving objects in question … why fellow trekkers of course. Tanni was a favored victim and she sure didn’t shy away from a fight. Good fun, all in all.
"Incoming"- Tanni and me with snow canonballsThe food on this trek had surpassed all our expectations. We expected uncooked rotis and watery gravies where, finding the chief vegetable involved in preparing the broth, would be a game well played at dinner time. No such luck. The food was great and at Tila Lotni we were in for a treat – Gulab Jamuns.
Chai at Tila lotniWe retired early as we had an early morning ahead of us.
Day 7: Tila Lotni to Biskeri – Back to 9000 ft
Had to be up by 2.30 and so I was.
This is generally the time I crash on weekends in Bangalore. Life sure can be funny sometimes. The only real grouse I had with this time was the whole idea of getting a spot to fertilize without being conspicuous. We had to use torches and look for adequate cover to not be seen. Difficult combination, but accomplished successfully.
Sunrise at Tila LotniWe got our gear together and having picked up our packed lunch, we started for the day.
We were to get to Sar Pass today and after a slow 500 mt climb we were there. The view from the top was breath taking. To be on a snow covered ridge with the peaks near by in sight, and this at dawn, was unforgettable. To watch the first rays of the day creeping over the mountains and finding us is a feeling I rather not describe. Words wouldn’t do justice. After a few moments of quiet thought we trudged along through the snow to get to Sar Lake.
Sar lake - hence the trek is called Sar Pass ...At Sar Lake we had an elaborate photo session. The three girls in our group decided to be the Power Puff girls or Charlie’s angels. Hence began the posturing as exponents of some form of martial arts that at best can be described as a cross between Salsa and Kalarippayattu. I was given the honor of being the baddie – Mojo Jojo.
Charlie's angels ...We moved on to another snow crossing. This one was called Biskeri Pass. Walking on snow can be tricky and with our hunter shoes things were relatively manageable but things could still go wrong. And so it did. One of the guys in the trail, just behind me slipped and fell. He dislocated his shoulder and although things were set in place soon enough with the guide’s help, his shoulder hurt for the rest of the trek.
The final crossing at ~ 15000 ftAt the end of the slide was another one of those make shift cafes that dished out noodles and chai. A little refueling and we were back on the trail to Biskeri. The trail to Biskeri was mostly through plains and was quite different from the trails we had been on so far. I was among the first few characters that got to the camp. The camp leader received me and through the conversation that ensued I was told that we had touched 14500 ft and were now at 9000 ft. The slide sure did simplify things for us.
A dumb charades session before dinner was like a blast from the past. It was school all over again. More so with Kushal there, classmate and fellow dumb charades aficionado. And post dinner we were lucky to have a camp fire. The shepherds near by had had a fire going close to the camp and after a while they had left. The fire though, was still going strong and so we all chose to stay rooted around it. The romantics in the group began singing soulful hindi numbers and the mushaira began. A lot of ghazals and melodies later we found the way back to our tents. This night will be etched firmly in my memory. The crescent moon, the music, the fire, the company and the location, not many times do so many good things come together.
A different sort of music in the tent though. But I forgive them all ;-)
Day 8: Biskeri to Bandak thatch – Back to 7000 ft
Since we had no more snow covered valleys to cover the schedule reverted to the earlier one. I was up by 6 and scrambling for a piece of land to call my hind side’s own. After having run through the early motions literally we got together to start another day of trekking.
As I had come to like making the distance in good time I was way ahead of the rest of the pack. Smitha was a little behind. Enjoying the sights, the music and following the trail. There were the occasional arrow marks in paint indicating the direction to head so things weren’t so difficult. At one stretch though, not far from Bandak thatch, our destination, the trail forked into two different directions. One would send me climbing up while the other would have me scrambling down and since we were descending back towards the base camp I figured the path going down was the way to go. No arrow marks to confirm my guess unfortunately. I headed down and came to what seemed like a flock of sheep. I was reveling in the rustic, simple ways of the people who inhabit this part of the world. But my ruminations on life and its essence were cut short by the sight of two livestock guard dogs bounding across the plain towards me. It is during such moments that people talk of seeing their whole lives flash in front of them. No such luck for me. I had to contend with shitting bricks and that I did. I stood there and prayed hard … real hard. Divorcing your agnostic beliefs is a lot easier in a crisis. Trust me on that one. Luckily not moving is the best course of action, if you ever find yourselves in such a predicament. The dogs ran up to me and about 3-4 mts from me came to a stop. Then after sizing me up for a couple of moments, which I must admit felt like eternity, started to walk towards me wagging their tails. Thank god I had used a deodorant in the morning. That’s the only way to explain their sudden change of heart. Not only did they spare me but also seemed friendly enough to walk with me while I traced my way back to that fork in the trail. On my way back I met Smitha and we headed towards Bandak thatch together.
Bandak thatch was another scenic camp and outscored all other camps thus far in terms of the view it had to offer of the mountains. After a brief session of photography we were told that this camp had the equipment for a game of cricket to begin. So we were all too quick to form teams and get down to it. The equipment essentially comprised of three sticks for wickets, a tennis ball and a stump of wood to serve as a bat. A well fought game followed and the fact that the game ended in a draw gave everybody a reason to cheer, and made this match all the more memorable. More games ensued as the camp leader had made it very clear that this was the ‘Fun camp’ and being our last we had the right to party hard. So we tried our hands at ‘dog and the bone’ and kho kho. Another page from our childhoods relived. ‘Aawsum’ as Kushal would have put it.
Cricket @ 9000 ft ... :-)
Sunset at Bandak Thatch ... a riot of colours ?Day 9 Bandak thatch to Kasol Base camp - 6000 ft
Cometh morning and I was looking for natural cover and virgin land again. I found a nice piece of turf behind a tree, hidden from the view of the camp. During the act of defecating though I happened to notice two girls from the camp, headed in my direction. A discomforting sight this and a time for quick thought I deemed. I quickly finished up and, with a deep breath headed from behind the trees hoping all along that I hadn’t been spotted thus far. I walked up to the two girls in question and indulged in the cursory talk of it being a good morning, a new day. More sanguine, cheerful observations later I was headed back to the tent hoping they hadn’t seen more of me then they were supposed to.
Being recognized by your tushy was not an exciting proposition.
I figured that I had been lucky on this account and having barely held onto my honor I told Kushal and Vihang all about my harrowing early morning encounter. I was not too happy about the audacity of these girls. Being a treat to women’s eyes doesn’t mean you can have your efforts to poopy in peace thwarted by girls who were clearly breaching established protocol by following me into the men’s territory. I voiced my displeasure in no equivocal terms. Vihang and Kushal were polite enough to listen to my grouse. On being asked where this had happened I gestured towards the distant line of trees behind the tents. Both of them burst out laughing and after having seen them roll a few times over, in what seem like a bout of epilepsy fits, I finally was told that what I deemed was the men's territory was actually the promised land for ladies.
I have the following to say in my defense. It so happens that the women folk had had toilets for the first few camps and it was only at these last two camps that they would have to rough it out. In other words, the whole world was there for all of us to poop on. The evening before, after the fun and games I had seen the ladies scouting the turf to the left of the camp for prospective spots of nirvana. Hence my Einstein like mind deduced that this section was demarcated as their poopy territory and hence the reconnaissance mission then. It was only next morning, after the above stated fiasco, that I realized that the territories had been accidentally swapped (and I reiterate accidentally swapped) in my innocent mind.
Anyways, after ensuring that my popularity at the camp had made an upward climb I decided to set the pace today too with my trek. I found my way with the help of the arrow marks but every now and then when the marks wouldn’t be around to help me I had knowledgeable company to show me the way. The two dogs that had almost got me to pee in my pants yesterday were there alongside. Every time I struggled with finding my way they would run ahead and help me out. I rue not having pieces of bread or biscuits to reward them with. My escorts bid be goodbye at Barshini village. My destination, from here I needed to take the local bus back to Kasol, Base camp.
On arriving at the bus stop I again discovered the joys of civilization - power for my iPod and phone lines to say ‘hi’ to the world. While music is hard to get by without, not carrying my cell phone on the trek was a wise and yet painful decision. I’m glad that Kushal and a few others on the trek had helped me out by letting me use their phones whenever I needed to. Thank you all.
After downing a few chocolate bars and making those all important phone calls I was on the local bus to Kasol. We got to Kasol by about 2ish and post lunch we went looking for a hotel room with '24 hours hot water' supply. Having found ourselves accommodation for the night and having freshened up, we returned to the base camp at night for the valedictory routine. This time it was for SP-13, our batch.
Having picked up our certificates and having bid adieu to all our batch mates we headed out for dinner. Smitha and I mean while went scouting for a cake for Murali. It was his birthday the next day and we needed the cake for our midnight celebration. After having checked out a few bakeries we finally found a shady place where the guy agreed to bake us a cake. The price was steep but there was no other worthwhile option. I found this place shady as, while waiting for the cake to be prepared we found ourselves sitting across a bunch of Israelis doing ‘hafeem’ or Opium. This place was a vending point for grass aka Cannabis and Opium. Can’t say if the haze at the bakery got to us or not, but we were glad when we finally got the cake. We had dinner and at midnight the cake did its job of attaching itself to Murali’s face pretty well.
Tired and cozy we all slept like kids that night. We finally had beds to sleep on.
Naggar – A 500 year old castle awaited us.
Next day we took another cab to Naggar. The ride was pleasant with no throw ups or bouts of motion sickness for any of us. May be we had finally got used to this altitude and the winding roads that a hilly terrain would present. After a 4 hour drive we reached Naggar. The 500 yr old castle and now a heritage hotel, where we had reservations, wasn’t the majestic sprawling mansion that one would expect a so called 'castle' to be. It was at best a bungalow which is an indication of the innate simplicity of the people in these regions. Even a king was satisfied with considering a bungalow as a castle. But this does not change the fact that this place afforded us a spectacular view of the mountains around us. And we sure went about living like kings at this place.
Naggar Castle .... brilliant place to unwind.The one image I’ll always have of this place is the view from the porch just outside our rooms. You could stretch yourself on the recliners there and across the valley were mountains. At night things were even better. You had a couple of distant dim lights on these mountains which were the only signs of life on those mountains. The night sky had a mad cluster of stars fighting for place and I happened to notice that my new found friend, the question mark constellation was there too. We spent three nights there and with a generous supply of alcohol on all three nights we were really tripping in these settings. Sitting on those recliners and getting high, looking at the stars and the moon, and wondering all along if life meant being anywhere else. Our harried minds could not be more at peace here. If you chose to avoid the alleys of philosophy, then you had to contend with nostalgia. Your ‘Back pages’ as Dylan would put it, would flip by one after the other. And you couldn’t help but smile at the meandering ways of life.
On the second day we went to Manali, a 20 km ride from Naggar. While there do visit Johnson’s café. Great place to unwind. We could all recommend the Salmon there, because we all saving the veggies Murali and Smitha, belted fish big time. The presence of a dart board only made the afternoon livelier. Now is the time for a helpful pointer. I was suffering from a severe case of the loosies. Never has the need to have a loo around been so acute in my life. If you do find yourself in a similar predicament, there is a course of action that you could adopt. It sure helped me and I don’t see why it wouldn’t help you. Public toilets are ruled out. The loos visited by the hoi polloi are never high on hygiene. The places to go, literally, are the up market restaurants. They always have polite stewards and clean toilets. Secondly, and more importantly always communicate in crisp English, look like you belong there even if you don’t and are more comfortable having tea at the nearby ‘tafri’ or roadside tea stall. Lastly, always look like a potential customer. Ask for something not too expensive, say coffee or tea. When handed the menu look like you are seriously contemplating whether tea or coffee would be better for you and out of sheer disgust at your confusion, ask the waiter to show you the way to the restroom. On returning to your seat after having successfully delivered the goods you can get back to perusing the menu. Now whether you choose to order, that much thought out coffee or tea depends on how menacing the waiter looks and your penchant for audacity. This modus operandi of mine worked very well for me. It should too for you if you are ever faced with the prospect of enduring earthquakes of the gastric kind. If you are in Manali though then I wouldn’t suggest this course of action. The waiters there still remember me.
A dart game at Johnson's cafe, Manali.
Shilpy's paragliding exploits ...After three days of bliss we were back in Manali to catch the Volvo to Delhi. An overnight bus ride brought us to Delhi. Breakfast was at the famed ‘Paranthe waali gulli’. A narrow road not too far from the Red fort with joints dedicated to the divine art of making mouth watering paranthes. The sheer variety in the paranthes made is mind boggling. From poppadums to pickles everything goes into these breads as the stuffing.
We took the metro from there to the airport. A better part of an hour in the metro was time spent in successfully concluding that India truly was on the fast track, an emerging nation for sure. The metro is world class and hats off to Dr E. Sreedharan for a job well done.
A flight later we were in Bangalore and home wondering if the last 15 days were spent in a trance - A magical spell that ended on encountering regular Bangalore traffic.
Partners in crime ... Shilpy is behind the camera.
